


Wishing You Were Somehow Here Again

by eirenical (chibi1723)



Category: Les Misérables (2012), Les Misérables - All Media Types, Les Misérables - Schönberg/Boublil
Genre: Alternate Universe - Celebrity, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Awkward First Times, Celebrity Crush, Childhood Friends, Combeferre & Grantaire Friendship, Enjolras & Courfeyrac Friendship, Loneliness, M/M, Minor Cosette Fauchelevent/Eponine Thenardier, Minor Enjolras/Grantaire, Musicals, Online Friendship, Prior Combeferre/Éponine Thénardier, Sexual Content, Social Anxiety, Twitter
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-23
Updated: 2014-12-23
Packaged: 2018-03-02 23:53:54
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 11,167
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2830601
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/chibi1723/pseuds/eirenical
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Leaning over, Grantaire placed a soft kiss against Combeferre's temple.  "Come on.  Talk to me."  When Combeferre still said nothing, Grantaire gave him a little shake.  "You've been sitting on this couch marathoning every movie, television show, and bootlegged musical that Michel de Courfeyrac has been in for the past ten years and you've watched the Phantom movie far more times than can possibly be healthy for such a short span of time.  You only do that when you're upset."  He gave Combeferre another shake.  "Talk to me."</p><p>Combeferre frowned and said, "Michel Courfeyrac.  He dropped the 'de' as soon as he hit his majority in a protest against his parents' aristocratic decadence and elitism."</p><p>Grantaire snorted out a laugh.  "OK, the fact that you both know that <i>and</i> that you said it with a straight face is more than a little pathetic.  We have <i>got</i> to get you out of this apartment."</p>
            </blockquote>





	Wishing You Were Somehow Here Again

**Author's Note:**

  * For [filigreeandflame](https://archiveofourown.org/users/filigreeandflame/gifts).



> **_December 22, 2014:_** Written as a combination of the prompts "1. internet friends? i’m too much of a sucker for this one." and "3. celebrity au," I'll be the first to admit that this got away from me a little. And even so, I feel like I probably could have written another 10K if I'd had the time. *sheepish grin* I hope you enjoy reading it as much as I enjoyed writing it!
> 
> [tumblr post](http://eirenical.tumblr.com/post/105982576687/wishing-you-were-somehow-here-again-written-for).
> 
> * * *

Grantaire walked into the living room just as a set of movie credits began to roll across the television. His roommate grabbed the remote to turn it off before Grantaire could identify the movie… but not quickly enough. The ending theme music had already told him all he needed to know. Grantaire dropped down onto the couch and casually wrapped an arm around his roommate's shoulders. "Combeferre… this is the third time this week and it's only Tuesday. This has to stop."

Combeferre's shoulders twitched under Grantaire's arm, but he offered up no defense for his actions. Grantaire sighed and pulled Combeferre closer. Combeferre didn't date often. He hardly ever had sex. And he formed lasting relationships even less often than either of those things. In fact, in all the time Grantaire had known him, he'd only had two relationships that lasted longer than one date and Grantaire had been one of them. And by the second date, though they clearly had much in common, it was equally clear that there was no chemistry between them. Still, Grantaire couldn't find it within him to be upset about it. Those two dates had led to such a close friendship that he couldn't remember how he'd gotten along without it.

Combeferre's second more-than-one-date-relationship, however, had just ended two weeks ago. And it had been significantly more than one date. He and Eponine had dated for nearly three months. They'd been good for each other, Grantaire had thought. He still wasn't entirely sure what had gone wrong, and Combeferre wasn't talking. He had just come home one day, settled in on the couch and started watching movies. That had been last week. He'd only left that couch to go to work, eat, and sleep -- and not even always that latter.

Leaning over, Grantaire placed a soft kiss against Combeferre's temple. "Come on. Talk to me." When Combeferre still said nothing, Grantaire gave him a little shake. "You've been sitting on this couch marathoning every movie, television show, and bootlegged musical that Michel de Courfeyrac has been in for the past ten years and you've watched the Phantom movie far more times than can possibly be healthy for such a short span of time. You only do that when you're upset." He gave Combeferre another shake. "Talk to me."

Combeferre frowned and said, "Michel Courfeyrac. He dropped the 'de' as soon as he hit his majority in a protest against his parents' aristocratic decadence and elitism."

Grantaire snorted out a laugh. "OK, the fact that you both know that _and_ that you said it with a straight face is more than a little pathetic. We have _got_ to get you out of this apartment."

Raising a hand to rub over his face, Combeferre mumbled through his fingers, "I'm fine, Grantaire. I just… I just need time, OK? Ending this was hard for me, harder even than starting it, and you know that's saying something. So just leave it, OK?"

Grantaire let the silence build between them, watching as Combeferre scrolled down his movie queue. He said nothing more until Combeferre selected that god-awful remake of Oliver that was the first big-budget movie Courfeyrac had ever been in. That was when he put his foot down. "Oh no. No no no. If you've fallen so low as to be watching movies that bad _just_ in the hopes that seeing your celebrity crush as a little kid will make you smile, then you are done, my friend. I'm dragging you out of here whether you like it or not." With that, Grantaire firmly closed Combeferre's laptop and disconnected the HDMI cable. Hauling him to his feet, Grantaire propelled Combeferre down the hall towards the bathroom. "Take a shower. Get dressed. You and I are going out." Firmly ignoring every one of Combeferre's protests, Grantaire simply said, "Enough. I got house seats for a show tonight and you're coming with me. No more arguing." Pleased when Combeferre finally started walking under his own power towards the bathroom, Grantaire went down the hall to Combeferre's room to pick out clothes for him before heading to his own to get dressed. He had more than one ulterior motive for tonight and he'd be damned if he let Combeferre ruin it for either of them.

* * *

Grantaire had ignored both Combeferre's protests over the selected clothes and his repeated attempts to get Grantaire to reveal their destination. Combeferre sighed. As silly as he felt about admitting it, he really hadn't been in the mood to go out, but Grantaire was determined to cheer him up. Cheer him up… If Grantaire only knew.

Combeferre had known that things wouldn't work out by the second month of his and Eponine's relationship -- as soon as it became obvious that she'd been using him as a red herring to convince certain members of the community that she was straight. Once the truth was out, he'd gone along with it, not wanting her to suffer the consequences she was afraid of. He'd known it was asking for trouble to let himself get attached under those circumstances… but he had. So all he wanted to do now was sit at home and nurse his bruised ego, soothing himself as he had since he was a child -- with the smile of the one person in his life who had never disappointed him. Sure, they'd never met. Sure, they never would. But that was what made him safe to rely on.

Combeferre hadn't wanted to say anything before, but that version of Oliver, bad as it was, was what had gotten him through his parents' divorce. It was also the movie that had introduced him to Michel Courfeyrac. It seemed silly looking back on it, but there had been something about the other boy's smile -- the rakish gap and resulting lisp from a lost tooth -- that had invited confidence. Just seeing that smile had been enough to lift his spirits. He'd watched that movie so often that he wore out the DVD. He'd fantasized then, that he'd been Oliver, rescued by Courfeyrac's Artful Dodger, running off to have adventures with him. He'd imagined having that smile turned on him, even if only once, and it made him feel warm all over.

…it still did.

But Combeferre was a grown man, now. He knew that Courfeyrac wasn't the Artful Dodger. He knew that that smile had to be at least partly acting, that no person could really be that cheerful all the time, especially with a never-ending stream of paparazzi in his face. Still, he fell for that smile every time he saw it. That smile had been there for him whenever he felt lonely, whenever he felt isolated. That smile had given him the courage to push himself out of his shell as a teenager. That smile was what had given him the strength to reach out to Grantaire, even when it became obvious that they'd never suit as lovers. Whenever he was uncertain, that smile was there for him in a way that no person in his life ever had been… even if it was just a crush. But he could never seem to explain that when it mattered.

It wasn't until they turned down 44th that Grantaire finally slowed down. But… wait. Turning to look at Grantaire, he arched an eyebrow. "Grantaire… did you just take me from one viewing of Phantom of the Opera to another?"

When Grantaire's only answer was a lopsided smirk, Combeferre sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose. It wasn't that he didn't like Phantom of the Opera. He did. But it was a bit heavy to watch it twice in one day. And really, he and Grantaire had been to see it more times in the last three months than he had ever wanted to. He should have known that was what Grantaire had had planned the minute he said "house seats," but he wasn't exactly firing on all thrusters tonight. Ever since Grantaire's friends Joly and Bossuet had been cast as Messieurs Firmin and Andre, between the two of them, they'd managed to get house seats for Grantaire nearly every weekend -- which was a wonderfully inexpensive way to see theatre, but if Combeferre could have picked a show to see every weekend, Phantom would _not_ have been it. The only reason he watched the movie as often as he did was because Courfeyrac was in it as the Phantom. And, though he'd never admit it, seeing Courfeyrac playing a character as lonely and isolated and freakish as Combeferre had always felt… well. It was reassuring to him in ways that he couldn't entirely explain, more reassuring even than Courfeyrac's smile had ever been. It made him feel less alone. That didn't mean, however, that he wanted to watch someone _else_ do it multiple times every month.

When Combeferre started to frown, Grantaire hastened to reassure him, "It's not what you think, OK? Trust me."

As Grantaire continued talking, another thought finally penetrated Combeferre's brain, and he stopped walking. "Grantaire… you _do_ remember that Eponine is playing Meg Giry, right? I'm not exactly in a rush to run into her, at the moment."

Grantaire made a frustrated noise and said, "Combeferre, I swear to God, you would try the patience of a saint. _Yes_ , I remember Eponine is in this show. I warned her we were coming and she's going to stay out of sight, but for the love of all that's unholy, will you stop arguing and use your damned eyes?" With that, he grabbed Combeferre's shoulders and spun him to face the newest posters… and Combeferre froze. Hardly daring to breathe, lest what he see turn out to be an illusion, Combeferre reached out to touch the glass which separated him from the poster. He'd know that face anywhere, even buried under the Phantom's make-up.

Michel Courfeyrac.

Combeferre reached out to grab Grantaire's sleeve and pull him closer. "What…? Is that…? How…? _Grantaire_??"

Grantaire patted Combeferre's hand and made a shushing noise. "Didn't I tell you to trust me?" When all Combeferre could make in response was a choked noise, Grantaire continued. "OK, so my friends in the show tipped me off that this was happening. Apparently the person they had lined up to play the Phantom got injured and couldn't do it. It was really last minute. So they started looking around for someone they could pull into the part with little to no rehearsal time. Your Courfeyrac did the part for two years in the West End. He did the 25th concert and the movie. And he was free and willing to do it. But because it was so last minute -- this literally went down last week -- there's been little to no press about it. But I knew you wouldn't want to miss it, so…" He shrugged.

Combeferre finally managed to pull his eyes off of Courfeyrac's picture to look at Grantaire… who was rather conspicuously focused on his shoes instead of Combeferre. Combeferre felt his lips twitch upwards. "These aren't house seats you got, are they?"

Grantaire sighed, but handed over the tickets. BB 103 and 104. Front row center, but offset just enough to have a good view of the Phantom's breakdown at the end. How well Grantaire knew him… how well, indeed. He smiled. "So what do I owe you?"

Grantaire shrugged as he took back one of the tickets. "Nothing. You needed cheering up. If this is what'll do it, then this is what'll do it." Gripping Combeferre's shoulder in one hand, Grantaire said, "I'm tired of seeing you moping around the apartment. Time to get you back out there." And with that cryptic statement and an even more cryptic smile, Grantaire had turned and was on his way into the theatre.

By the time Combeferre made his way inside and through the crowd to the front row, Grantaire was already in his seat, buried in his phone, a soft smile on his face. Combeferre nudge him as he sat. "Who are you talking to?"

"No one." The guilty look that overtook Grantaire's face as he put his phone away told Combeferre everything that Grantaire hadn't. He'd started up a casual fling with one of the actors in the show -- someone Joly and Bossuet had introduced him to named Luke -- but that was all Combeferre had been able to get out of him on that score. He'd lay even odds that the unknown actor was the reason Grantaire came back to the show so often, but that wasn't what tonight was about and Combeferre appreciated Grantaire's discretion. There wasn't time for anymore talking after that, however, because the lights went down, the music came up… and the show began.

* * *

At intermission, it took Grantaire poking him in the shoulder to jerk Combeferre out of the spell the show had woven around him. And it took Grantaire handing him a tissue and hissing at him to get himself under control for him to realize that he was crying. He'd felt his throat close during the Phantom's part of the All I Ask of You reprise, but hadn't known it had been more than that. Just… the movie didn't prepare you for the full force of Michel Courfeyrac singing that part live. You could practically hear his soul cracking and breaking in his voice, practically feel his pain as his body twisted to convey what his face could not. Combeferre had been so wrapped up in his performance that he'd barely even noticed that Eponine was on the stage, much less that he should be worrying about the possibility of her seeing him.

Turning to Grantaire revealed him buried back in his phone again, so Combeferre nudged him. "If you're texting Joly and Bossuet, please pass along my compliments -- they were brilliant."

Grantaire snorted. "I'm surprised you even noticed they were on stage. Seriously, Combeferre. You don't do anything by halves, do you? When you get obsessed with something, you _really_ get obsessed. I could practically see your eyes turning into throbbing hearts. Aren't you a little old for celebrity crushes?"

Combeferre winced but didn't rise to Grantaire's baiting. It would be too hard to explain, would require too much back-story that he didn't want to share, to get Grantaire to understand that this wasn't precisely a crush. It was… more than that. Sitting in the front row, heart in his throat, and hands twisting in his lap with the need to do something, _anything_ , with the emotions raging through him, Combeferre suddenly felt a desire to do something that he hadn't done in years. Not since Courfeyrac had left the States to play the Phantom in the West End. Combeferre pulled out his phone and opened his Twitter app.

Courfeyrac had already tweeted: ~I've missed doing this show live SO MUCH. What a cast! What an audience! #HumbledAndExcited #BringOnActII #ThatsAllThePhantomAsksOfYou~

There was a flurry of responses to that tweet -- former cast mates, excited fans who hadn't known he'd been cast, current cast mates who were just as excited as Courfeyrac was by how well the show was going. Courfeyrac had responded to several of his friends and cast mates, but not to any of the fans. It gave Combeferre the courage he needed to throw his own response into the pool… and to drop a reminder of days that Courfeyrac had doubtless forgotten but Combeferre never would.

~@mcourfeyrac No movie could have prepared me for how brilliant you are in this part from 30 feet away. #ForeverAFan #PleaseSirIWantSomeMore~

Seeing that Grantaire was still occupied, Combeferre took the opportunity to switch over to his POTO list to try to catch what the rest of the cast was saying about tonight's show so far. From the riot of tweets, it seemed they were just as excited as Courfeyrac's fans were. It was hard to express, really, but the energy that Courfeyrac had brought to the show was invigorating, and his chemistry with the two playing Raoul and Christine was unbelievably intense. 

Combeferre paused in his scrolling to glance at the program. Christine was being played by a woman making her Broadway debut in the role -- Cosette Fauchelevent. And Raoul… ah. There. Luc Enjolras. Wait. Combeferre knew that name. He'd been in shows with Courfeyrac before. Not only that, but they'd gone to school together. There'd been an interview… when was it? Five years ago? Six? Courfeyrac had been talking about Enjolras, whom he'd known since grade school. He'd been surprised that Enjolras had followed him into acting, because he'd thought for certain that Enjolras would become a politician. It was Enjolras' influence that had Courfeyrac donating all the money he made -- save what he needed to live on -- to various charities. It was one of the many things Combeferre admired him for, above and beyond all the things he'd admired him for as a child. He was truly a good person. It was rare that they came that good _and_ were wrapped in such a beautiful package. And every time Combeferre started to doubt that Courfeyrac genuinely was that good a person, Courfeyrac would do something that would establish it all over again.

The lights dimmed, then came up again -- a five minute warning for people to return to their seats. Combeferre and Grantaire hastily stood to let people back into the row, and by the time they'd resettled, the lights were dimming for real. It wasn't until Combeferre was looking down to turn off his phone that he realized there was a message flashing for him… a direct Twitter message. But there was no time to read it before the lights went down for Act II and Combeferre cursed to himself as he turned off his phone, refusing to get his hopes up. It was probably Eponine. She'd probably spotted him in the front row. Well, whatever she had to say could wait. Combeferre had a show to watch.

* * *

Combeferre was the first to his feet when Courfeyrac came out, clapping so hard his hands hurt, and screaming in a way that would most definitely embarrass him later, but for now… for now, he didn't care. Courfeyrac had been _brilliant_. He'd been magical. He'd been perfect. He'd been… Combeferre didn’t have _words_ for what he'd been. And… it might have been just his imagination, but it seemed that when Courfeyrac looked out at the audience, he'd taken a few seconds longer than necessary to scan the front row, that when his eyes had lit on Combeferre, his smile had softened, become both a little less bright… and a little more real. But surely that was just his imagination.

When the curtain call was over, Grantaire caught Combeferre's elbow and winked. "I don't suppose I could convince you to stage door, could I?"

Combeferre was torn. Normally he stayed as far away from the stage door crowds as he could, especially when there was a bigger-than-Broadway celebrity in a cast. But this… this was different. He let a smile twitch the corner of his lips upwards. "I think just this one I could be convinced."

Grantaire laughed and punched him in the shoulder. "That's the spirit! We'll make a typical fan of you, yet!" He then took Combeferre by the hand and pulled him out of the theatre to the stage door. 

When they got there, one of the security guards waved in their direction. Grantaire pushed his way up to the barricade, towing Combeferre with him as he went, and leaned over to hear over the excitedly screaming fans. The security guard said something that Combeferre didn't catch and handed over a folded piece of paper. Grantaire opened the paper, quickly scanned it, and an odd look passed over his face. He then nodded at the security guard, tipped him a salute and pulled Combeferre back out of the crowd. When they were well down the block from the theatre, Combeferre finally got him to slow down. "I thought you wanted to stage door?" 

Good grief. Was he whining? Combeferre had a sinking suspicion he was whining. He hadn't exactly been looking forward to being jostled around in the stage door crowd, but it had been an opportunity to actually _meet_ Courfeyrac. Possibly the only opportunity Combeferre would ever have.

Grantaire just twitched and handed over the note.

~ _R,_

You up for Five Napkin? We went straight from rehearsal into the show today and we're all starving. Table for seven? Eight if your friend wants to come? And the usual appetizers. Thanks. You're a life-saver.

Luc~

Combeferre stared down at the note for a full minute before re-hinging his jaw. _That_ was why the name had sounded so immediately familiar. Grantaire's "casual fling." Not Luke, but _Luc_. Luc Enjolras. Raoul, Vicomte de Chagny. _He_ was Grantaire's casual fling. Brandishing the note like the accusation it was, Combeferre said, "When, exactly, were you planning to tell me that you were sleeping with Courfeyrac's best friend?"

Grantaire winced. "Well… preferably never, given how I figured you'd react." At Combeferre's thunderous look, Grantaire held up his hands in a defensive posture. "Look, Combeferre… you're a logical kind of guy. You're calm, you're even tempered, and you-- fuck. You're a scientist, right? You read philosophy books for _fun_. And 99% of the time, you're completely predictable. But that other 1%… I don't know what kinds of deep, dark stuff you have in your past, but that other 1% of the time, you scare the shit out of everyone who knows you. And that 1% of the time is where your pet obsession with Michel Courfeyrac lives. To be frank, since I couldn't guess how you'd react, I figured it was safer to say nothing. The last thing I wanted to do was hurt your feelings, OK?"

The worst part about it was that really… that was fair. Combeferre slumped. Grantaire was one of the most observant people he knew. He had Combeferre pinned, dead on. And now was not the time to explain that this "obsession" with Courfeyrac was the last vestigial remnant of a childhood when he'd had no one to rely on but himself… and a child star who was far more friendly than he should have been on Twitter.

…Twitter. Damn it.

Without saying a word in response -- because really, what could he say? -- Combeferre started walking, again. Five Napkin Burger was only one more block west and two blocks north from here, but even this late at night there was usually a wait to get in. Grantaire allowed him his silence, letting him process this new information in whatever way he needed to. And as they walked, Combeferre pulled out his phone and took it off airplane mode to see what Eponine had wanted. With his luck, she'd be one of the ones joining them for dinner, and judging by the looks she'd been sharing with Cosette during the curtain call, Cosette was the one she'd left him for… and she'd be there, too. Whatever warning Eponine was trying to give him, Combeferre wanted it. So, he opened his Twitter app, pulled up his direct messages… and stared.

There were five of them, now.

They were all from @mcourfeyrac.

2 hrs ago: ~OH GOSH. I REMEMBER YOU. YOU USED TO TWEET ME ALL THE TIME. WHERE'VE YOU BEEN? ARE YOU HERE? GREAT TO HEAR FROM YOU!~

2 hrs ago: ~omg. i'm not such a spaz, i stg. forgot to turn off the capslock. :P It's been years, though! I can be forgiven for getting excited, right?~

16 min ago: ~OMG, I'M A DORK. YOU CAN'T ANSWER. Look, I think my friend Luc is dating your friend. I'll badger him into inviting you to dinner with us.~

16 min ago: ~This may sound stupid, but I've kind of missed those regular tweets from you. It was good to hear from you, again. Better than you know.~

16 min ago: ~...you know what? How about I just shut up, now. #IGuessIAmThatMuchOfASpaz~

Combeferre stopped walking, still staring down at his phone, not realizing he'd stopped until Grantaire cursed and pulled him out of the road and onto the sidewalk. Before he could start up what looked like it would be a really impressive harangue about walking and phone safety, however, Combeferre wordlessly shoved his phone into Grantaire's hands, then pulled his own back, stuffing them into his pockets to hide the shaking.

Barely a minute later, Grantaire said, "What the ever loving fuck? Combeferre, are you sure he didn't mistake you for someone else?"

Combeferre mutely shook his head. This was another thing that he couldn't explain. He'd discovered moths at the same time he'd discovered Courfeyrac in Oliver, and when he'd made his Twitter handle, he'd just mashed together the two things he loved to come up with @mothful_dodger as his Twitter handle. The first time he'd Tweeted at Courfeyrac, Courfeyrac had been enchanted with the (poorly) attempted pun and it had led to an hour long pun war. Every time Combeferre had tweeted him after that, Courfeyrac had always made time to come up with a bad pun, just for him. He wouldn't have forgotten. Even going on eight years since the last time Combeferre had dared tweet at him -- since he'd been old enough to figure out that you just didn't routinely have Twitter conversations with celebrities like that -- Courfeyrac wouldn't have forgotten. Combeferre was sure of it.

Grantaire shrugged. "Well, Enjolras just texted me the guest list for tonight and your Courfeyrac is on it, so I guess you'll get to ask him in person, huh?"

Combeferre swallowed hard and nodded, suddenly feeling anything but hungry. This… he didn't know if he'd ever have had the courage to say the things he had to Courfeyrac if he'd ever dared dream that he might meet the man in person. And now… He buried his face in his hands, trusting Grantaire's grip on his arm to keep him from bumping into anyone. If Courfeyrac remembered even a fraction of those things, Combeferre might just die of embarrassment before he ever got a chance to explain.

* * *

By the time Courfeyrac pried himself away from the stage door crowd, Enjolras and the others were at the end of the block and Enjolras was tapping his foot and staring at his phone. Courfeyrac hurried to catch up, riding such a high from the performance and the stage door that when he reached them, he grabbed Cosette and pulled her into a tight hug. She laughed and patted his arm. "Well, what's got you all excited?"

Courfeyrac waved a hand into the brisk air around them, still grinning that wide, boyish grin. "I don't even know. Just… everything. I've missed this, OK? I've missed how real it is. How you can reach out and touch people with your art, you know? I haven't been on a stage like that since doing Phantom in London. And that was like… more than five years ago, now!" He sobered, placed a gentle kiss on Cosette's cheek. "I never meant to be gone so long. I never meant to leave the stage entirely. I've missed it more than I thought possible."

Courfeyrac startled when a hand landed on the nape of his neck but settled when he saw that it belonged to Enjolras. Reaching back, he gave Enjolras' wrist a squeeze. Enjolras smiled. "Well, Broadway has missed you, too. Maybe this time we can convince you to stay."

Courfeyrac snorted. "Please. If I had anything to say about it, I'd never set foot in Hollywood, again." He sighed. "Unfortunately, Marvel _did_ sign me for a three movie contract with the option to extend." He ignored Eponine's snorted out "Unfortunately?" and continued, "But believe you, me, I don't intend to go near anything else Hollywood related ever again other than that, if I can help it."

"Well, just as long as you know that you're welcome back any time." Enjolras gave Courfeyrac's neck a brief squeeze before letting go and starting to walk. Courfeyrac let go of Cosette and raced to catch up. Once he had, he linked arms with Enjolras and fell into step with him. Enjolras smiled. "So, who was that you were busy texting before, anyway? You were as giddy as an adolescent with their first crush when you were done."

Courfeyrac felt his face heat as Enjolras asked his questions. Turning his face into Enjolras' shoulder, he mumbled, "You'll think it's stupid."

Leaning down to rest his head on Courfeyrac's for a moment, Enjolras said, "I promise I won't. Not if it means this much to you."

For a moment, Courfeyrac couldn't answer. He'd never admitted it to Enjolras before -- how lonely he'd been when he started doing movies and TV shows. He'd been a little kid, barely eight years old, when he started. And for huge swaths of the year, his parents would take him away from everything he knew, from all his friends, in their quest to land him a memorable role. Sure, he'd asked for it, had wanted it, once, but that didn't alter the reality of how lonely it had been. And Enjolras… well, he had made new friends while Courfeyrac was away. Feuilly, Bahorel, Jehan -- they were good people. Enjolras had introduced them as soon as Courfeyrac had come home, and they'd become Courfeyrac's friends, as well, but… it wasn't the same. Every time he left, he knew that Enjolras still had his friends and Courfeyrac had no one. And phone calls weren't enough. So, Courfeyrac had taken to social media.

…and he thanked his lucky stars every day that he hadn't done or said anything truly foolish in those early years before he learned better. The one thing he had done, however, was be more open with his young fans than he maybe should have been. He'd treated them like the friends he didn't have on hand, even fantasized about what it would be like to get to hang out with them for real. And there had been one in particular, @mothful_dodger -- a name that still made Courfeyrac laugh when he thought about it -- who he'd clicked with even more than most. His name had been Alan, Courfeyrac remembered. They'd had hours-long Twitter conversations some nights. Courfeyrac had hidden under his blankets, clutching that phone to him and pretending that Alan was in a sleeping bag on the floor -- that they both were -- and instead of tweeting, they'd been whispering their secrets long into the night.

As they got older, Alan tweeted at Courfeyrac less and less often, finally stopped altogether when Courfeyrac went off to London to play Phantom in the West End. That was right around when his first movie for Marvel had come out and his fame had exploded. It had been good to get out of Hollywood, then, and he'd gotten so wrapped up in his new life in London, that Courfeyrac hadn't realized how long it had been since heard from Alan until almost a year had passed. It had hurt, but he'd finally concluded that their friendship -- what Courfeyrac had _thought_ was a friendship -- hadn't meant as much to Alan as it had to him. That maybe Alan had outgrown him. He'd done his best to move on, to forget…

…until that Tweet tonight.

Courfeyrac had never told Enjolras about any of it. And Enjolras didn't have a Twitter account, even now, so he wouldn't have known that way, either. And that was _not_ a conversation that Courfeyrac wanted to have while walking up 9th Avenue. Finally he shrugged and said, "Just a fan I used to talk to on Twitter. Turns out he was here tonight." Deftly turning the subject away from himself, Courfeyrac picked up his head and poked Enjolras in the cheek. "He was sitting with your flavor of the month that you somehow hadn't told me about."

In true Enjolras fashion, his cheeks lit up in a slow but furious blush. "He is _not_ my flavor of the month. I don't _have_ flavors of the month. Not all of us have people throwing themselves at our feet every two steps, begging for us to even look their way, you know."

Courfeyrac laughed, charmed by Enjolras' gruff embarrassment. "Well, certainly you should. You're as good looking as I am and you play the shining knight hero of the show. That ought to earn you _some_ accolades, at least, shouldn't it?"

Enjolras mumbled something that Courfeyrac didn't catch, so Courfeyrac poked at him again until he repeated it. With a put-upon sigh, Enjolras finally did. "Not all of us _want_ that kind of attention, Michel. Just because what R and I have is casual, doesn't mean that it's not important to me… or to him. We just didn't want to rush into anything. The-- OK, look." He stopped walking, turned to face Courfeyrac. "I don't want you teasing him when we get to the restaurant, OK? He's insecure as hell with me already and the only reason I've kept it casual and mostly physical is that I'm pretty sure he wouldn't believe me if I told him I wanted more. So, just… take it easy with him, OK?"

Courfeyrac reached down and grabbed Enjolras' hands, giving them a brief squeeze. "Of course." When Enjolras blinked, a confused expression crossing his face, Courfeyrac sighed. "Enjolras, anyone with half a brain could see you're serious. And you don't get serious about people on a whim. I respect that. I respect _you_. So, no teasing. I won't tease you and you won't tease me. And that extends to any fans we've managed to ensnare into our sordid, show biz-ridden lives. Fair enough?"

Enjolras laughed and linked their arms, started to walk, again. "Fair enough."

They walked the rest of the way in companionable silence, just enjoying each other's presence. It really had been too long since Courfeyrac had been able to just walk down a street without being harassed. It was one of the things he'd missed most about New York. It was one of the few cities he knew -- London being the other -- where people took pride in their ability to treat celebrities like ordinary people. Courfeyrac needed that. He needed it badly. It would help remind him that he was human.

When they reached the restaurant, Enjolras' not-quite-boyfriend and his friend were already inside, sitting alone at a table large enough for all of them, a spread of appetizers laid out mostly untouched before them. Seeing that, Courfeyrac's stomach made a rumble loud enough that even Joly and Bossuet, who were at the head of their group, swore they'd heard it. Courfeyrac just laughed it off. He only had eyes for Grantaire's friend… his Alan.

When they filed inside, Courfeyrac made sure that he ended up sitting across from Alan, with Enjolras next to him and across from Grantaire. Alan looked uncomfortable, as though he'd like nothing more than to flee the situation and Courfeyrac only hoped that his frantic flurry of ever more ludicrous DMs hadn't been the cause of that discomfort. Throughout the rest of the meal, however, it became apparent that that was more likely than not the case.

Maybe it was naïve of him to have thought so, but Courfeyrac had hoped that maybe if they finally met face to face, they could somehow go back to that childhood camaraderie, that fast friendship they'd shared. But the more charming Courfeyrac tried to be, the more uncomfortable Alan looked, and the more Courfeyrac tried to lure him into conversation, the less he said. It was making Courfeyrac more than a little bit desperate.

Eventually, Courfeyrac excused himself, unable to take one more miserable look aimed his way in response to his attempts at conversation. He'd hoped… He'd hoped that his fame wouldn't matter. He'd hoped that he really could go back to a more innocent childhood. He'd hoped… it didn't really matter what he'd hoped. He locked himself in the bathroom, banged his head against the wall once or twice, then flipped around to lean against it.

 _Think, Michel. **Think**. You're good at this. You practically seduce people for a living. So why is this so blasted hard? You should know what to do,_ he thought. _So just fucking **do** it!_ He stared himself down in the mirror, tapping his phone against his chin and suddenly… he had an idea. A wicked smile bloomed across his face and he turned to look down at his phone. That would do nicely. That would do nicely, indeed.

* * *

If Combeferre hadn't been stuck between Grantaire on one side of him and Joly on the other, he'd have fled the restaurant long ago. This was his every worst nightmare come true in bright, living color. Michel Courfeyrac was _here_ , just three feet away from him, talking to _him_ , paying attention to _him_ … _flirting_ with _him_ … and he couldn't think of a single thing to say. As he watched the excited light start to fade from Courfeyrac's eyes to be replaced with a strained, public smile, he wanted to sink through the floor and never come back up. He was ruining this and he didn't know what to do to fix it. He wasn't like Grantaire; he didn't have the confidence to talk to celebrities like they were real people. Not anymore. Eventually Courfeyrac swallowed hard, the last of the light fading from his warm, brown eyes, and when he excused himself, all but fled to the restroom, Combeferre wanted nothing more than to bury his head in his arms and cry.

Combeferre sat there in benumbed silence, cursing his own awkwardness, for what felt like forever… until he felt a buzz against his leg. Pulling his phone out of his pocket, he saw that there was an e-mail and a Twitter notification and his stomach swooped down into his feet as he opened the e-mail to see what it was.

_Michel Courfeyrac (@mcourfeyrac) is now following you on Twitter!_

Feeling his stomach drop even further into his feet, Combeferre pushed his way out of his seat and made for the back door, getting outside where the air had a chance to cool his flushed cheeks. Firmly telling his stomach to stay put, Combeferre opened his Twitter app where, _of course_ , there were several new DMs.

From Courfeyrac.

~I'm sorry. I'm so, so sorry. This was too much, too soon, and I scared you. I know I did. And that was absolutely the last thing I wanted.~

~I just… I missed you. I missed talking to you. I missed having one relationship outside of my friendship with Enjolras that was real.~

~Maybe it was just wishful thinking, but I always thought… I always thought you felt that way, too.~

~Until you stopped tweeting.~

~So, I thought… maybe I'd been wrong. Until tonight. Because there you were. I could see you. Right there in the front row.~

~Hell, I could've fallen into your lap from the fucking stage.~

~So I let myself hope that maybe… maybe you DID feel the same.~

~But maybe I was wrong, again. So… I'm not coming back to the table unless you want me to.~

~This is your life. Your friends. And I don't want to take them from you.~

~I care about you too much. Still.~

~…I'm sorry.~

Combeferre stared down at those messages, sure now that his heart had dropped into his toes along with his stomach. Never, in all his wildest imaginings, had he ever thought that Courfeyrac might have felt the same way about their childhood Twitter friendship as he had. Never had he thought that Courfeyrac might have been as lonely as he had been, that he might have needed a friend just as badly. He stared down at the words on his phone, willing himself to reconcile the outpouring of real feelings with the charming flirt who had been at the table with him, finally recognized that Courfeyrac's flirting had to be as much of a protective cover as Combeferre's silence had ever been. Knowing that, and seeing real pain in the words of those messages, Combeferre typed three words into the response box, then made his way back inside. When he reached the bathrooms, he hit send.

~Let me in.~

A moment later, a lock clicked, and one of the doors opened. Combeferre walked in, spared barely a second to register how utterly ridiculous it was that they were going to have this discussion In a bathroom, of all places, before he said, "I'm sorry, too." Courfeyrac's eyes widened and he shook his head, but before he could answer, Combeferre lifted his hand and pressed a finger to Courfeyrac's lips. Inwardly panicking over the liberty he'd just taken and hoping like mad that he'd read Courfeyrac's confession right, Combeferre said, "No. I am. You weren't wrong. I was just a coward. When I got older, I realized that most people don't talk to celebrities the same way they do to their friends and I panicked, figured I'd overstepped all kinds of boundaries with you and you'd be better off never hearing from me again. I didn't realize until now… I didn't overstep any boundaries. Not because they weren't there, but because you weren't a celebrity to me. You were a friend. Right?"

Courfeyrac nodded, his eyes bright. When Combeferre removed his finger, Courfeyrac said simply, "I never thought of you as just a fan. You _were_ a friend."

Combeferre finally let himself smile. "Then… can we just forget that this whole awkward night happened and start over?"

Courfeyrac tilted his head to the side and tapped his phone against his lips. When he lowered the phone, he was smiling -- a more real smile than Combeferre had ever seen him wear in press photos. "No. I don't think we can. I don't think I want to. Because this… This is real. We hurt each other and we made up. That's life. You don't just forget that and move on. You remember it so you don't do it again." Seeing something in Combeferre's face that made him smile even wider, Courfeyrac added, "Besides… if we start over, then I can't leverage this moment of privacy to try something I've been wanting to try since I saw you sitting in the front row and figured out who you were-- no. Something I've been wanting to try since I was about sixteen, if you want to know the truth."

Combeferre's eyebrows rose, and he could feel his cheeks heating at the predatory look that had crept into Courfeyrac's eyes with that last sentence. Courfeyrac slid his phone back into his pocket, then leaned forwards to brace his hands on Combeferre's chest. He whispered, "While I appreciate the friendship we once had… Alan…" Combeferre barely repressed a shiver at the way Courfeyrac's voice slid over the syllables of his given name, and his hands clenched at his sides from the effort. "I would very, _very_ much like to kiss you right now," Courfeyrac said.

This time, Combeferre couldn't repress the shudder that ran through him, and his hands closed convulsively on Courfeyrac's hips as he leaned in closer. Just before their lips touched, however, Combeferre abruptly froze and pulled back. Seeing the instant of hurt in Courfeyrac's eyes before he tucked it away, though, Combeferre hastened to explain. Feeling more in control of himself than he'd felt in weeks, he pressed his forehead to Courfeyrac's and said, "I'm sorry. I'm so, so sorry. But if you're that dead set on making every single one of my childhood fantasies come true in one night, then I _refuse_ to let it happen in a public restroom."

Courfeyrac's laugh bubbled out of him and filled the small room. When he finally got himself under control, he said, "Not gonna lie, the public restroom thing wasn't part of my childhood fantasies, either." He paused, then, swallowed hard as his cheeks flushed a soft pink. "I, uh… don't suppose you'd be interested in heading somewhere else to continue this discussion, then?"

To his utter surprise, Combeferre didn't even have to think twice about it. This… it felt different than any almost-relationship he'd ever had. It felt different because there was no awkward "getting to know you" phase. He knew Courfeyrac. Not just the trappings of a life that anyone could learn from reading the magazines. No. He knew Courfeyrac, deep down, like only another child who'd huddled with him in the dark against the loneliness could know him -- Oliver to his Artful Dodger. There was no fear here. For the first time ever, Combeferre knew exactly what he wanted. Leaning down, he whispered into Courfeyrac's ear, "My roommate will probably go home with your best friend. We'd have the place all to ourselves…"

"Perfect." Courfeyrac was all beaming smiles after that, and he grabbed Combeferre's hand to pull him out of the bathroom. Hardly daring to believe that this was his life, Combeferre followed, nearly ran into Courfeyrac when he paused by the door to wave brightly at Enjolras before dragging him on. They didn't bother with the subway or with walking. Courfeyrac hailed them a cab the second they were outside. Combeferre roused from his fugue of mixed happiness and nerves long enough to tell the driver where they were going before letting Courfeyrac pull him back, cuddling up against him like he didn't plan to ever allow them to be separated, again.

That was a plan that Combeferre was definitely OK with.

The trip to Combeferre's apartment was a blur, and he had just one short minute to panic when he realized that he'd left his stack of "Courfeyrac DVDs" right next to his laptop. He ha just long enough to begin to worry that that would creep Courfeyrac right the hell out of wanting this, but when they got to the apartment, Courfeyrac took one look at the stack, shook his head, and said, "Dweeb," in such a fond tone of voice that Combeferre couldn't even be offended. 

Laughing, Combeferre had pulled Courfeyrac to him and buried his nervous laughter in Courfeyrac's neck. The minute Combeferre's lips touched skin, Courfeyrac let out the most delicious sounding whimper that Combeferre had ever heard. Almost reverently, he did it again, pressing a firm kiss into the column of Courfeyrac's neck, then daring to let his tongue slip between his lips to explore, as well. This time, Courfeyrac's whimper turned quickly into a low moan, and he clutched tightly at Combeferre's arms for support. Panting softly into Combeferre's ear, he said, "Couch? I'm good with the couch. The couch is right here."

Combeferre spared just one brief thought to wonder how on Earth this had become his life when just that afternoon he'd been sitting on that couch, pining over the fact that he'd been dumped by watching hour after hour of footage of the man who was now squirming in his arms to get even closer to him than he already was. There would be a certain poetic symmetry to giving in to that desire and need on the couch… but, no. He wanted this to be as perfect as it could be. And that meant a bed. _His_ bed. Taking a step back and shuddering as the whimper Courfeyrac let out went straight through him, Combeferre led him down the hallway, step by slow step, punctuated with kisses at every pause.

Once they'd finally gotten to his bedroom, Combeferre kicked the door closed behind him and flipped the lock. He wanted no chance of interruptions; none at all. By the time Combeferre had turned back, Courfeyrac was out of his coat and shoes and starting to unbutton his shirt. Catching Combeferre looking, he offered up a small smile and began drawing out the process of removing his shirt. Combeferre swallowed hard, choking back a giddy laugh that would have been more of a giggle if it managed to escape his lips.

Courfeyrac paused once he'd undone the last button and walked over to take Combeferre's face in his hands and place a soft but thorough kiss on his lips. His voice was husky when he spoke and it sent a shiver of pure arousal down Combeferre's spine. "You look like a man who'd like to ask someone to pinch him but doesn't dare for fear that someone will take him up on it."

Since that was far closer to the truth than Combeferre wanted to admit, he answered by sealing his lips back over Courfeyrac's, thrusting his tongue into the welcoming heat of his mouth. As they kissed, Courfeyrac worked the buttons on Combeferre's coat open, then pushed it off his shoulders and started tugging at the sweater Combeferre had on underneath it. They broke apart only long enough for Courfeyrac to pull the sweater and the tee-shirt beneath it over Combeferre's head before they were back in each other's arms. Combeferre then returned the favor and pushed Courfeyrac's shirt off his shoulders. This time, when Courfeyrac pressed against him, it was skin to skin, and Combeferre was the one whimpering. Everywhere they touched felt electric -- their lips and tongues, their chests pressed closely together, Courfeyrac's hands on his face, Combeferre's hands on Courfeyrac's waist. It had never been like this for him, before. He'd never felt like touch was an addiction he couldn't get enough of, like he might pass out if he couldn't have more. Combeferre never wanted it to stop.

Courfeyrac's hands slid down from Combeferre's face to travel down his chest and hook into the belt loops of his pants to pull him closer. When they pressed together this time, Combeferre gasped and swayed forwards. Courfeyrac's chuckle was warm in response. "Easy there, tiger. We've got a ways to go, yet."

Combeferre's laugh was slightly hysterical as he shook his head. "If we've got too much of a ways to go, I'm afraid I won't make it."

Courfeyrac's smirk was pure mischief and more worthy of the Artful Dodger than the Phantom. "Well, then I guess we'll just have to save anything adventurous for Round 2, then, won't we?"

Round 2? Combeferre hadn't even gotten his head wrapped around the idea that there was going to be a Round 1!

As Combeferre came back to himself from that moment of shock, he became aware that Courfeyrac was laughing; soft puffs of air against his chest and collarbone. Seeing that, feeling that, something swept over Combeferre that he'd never felt before. He started slowly moving forwards, bending to capture Courfeyrac's lips again, forcing him to move backwards along with him, until they hit the bed. Feeling it behind him, Courfeyrac sat down and scooted back, pulling Combeferre with him. As Combeferre settled on top of him, daring to rock his hips into the cradle of Courfeyrac's thighs, Courfeyrac gasped, let out another breathless laugh. Leaning up on his elbows, he caught Combeferre's earlobe in his teeth, gave it a sharp nip which had Combeferre whimpering again, then whispered directly into the shell of his ear, "So… what's you're pleasure, Alan?"

And right then, Combeferre's mind ground to a halt. That question made this situation real in a way that all their breathless kisses somehow hadn't. Bringing his mind, his intellect. back into the equation tripped him up in a way he couldn't get past. Moments later, when he was able to think again, Courfeyrac was cradling him against his chest and slowly stroking his hair. When he saw that he had Combeferre's attention again, he gave him a rueful smile. "Went too fast again, did I?"

"A bit, yeah." Combeferre winced at the hoarse sound of his own voice, winced again at the clumsy way he tried to explain the problem. "Thinking and sex don't traditionally combine well for me."

Courfeyrac placed a chaste kiss on his lips and stroked his thumbs over Combeferre's cheekbones. "You know… when I told you I wanted to kiss you, I really meant that. It doesn't need to go any further than that if you don't want it to. I'm really OK with that."

The sound Combeferre produced then as he pushed himself up to a kneeling position was more reminiscent of a tea kettle than a person. When he finally got words out, they were, "No! That's not what I-- I'm _very_ OK with this. I'm just… I'm not good at thinking about it in the moment." Getting his breathing back under control, he said, "I want this. I want _you_. I just… I haven't done this often. And I still don't know all the rules. And that makes me uncomfortable."

Courfeyrac blinked at him for a moment, then smiled a slow smile. "I remember that about you. I remember that you were always happier when you knew what was expected of you. In all those fantasies of mine, it never occurred to me to think about how that would translate to… intimacy." The way he said that last word caused another shudder to run down Combeferre's spine. Courfeyrac sat up and cupped his face once more. "If I have anything to say about it, you will have plenty of time and opportunity to learn the rules. So how about you just let me be your guide for now?"

At those words, Combeferre's nerves fell away. Courfeyrac understood. Not only did he understand, he _accepted_. Combeferre felt like he could jump over the moon. And somehow, knowing that Courfeyrac not only wanted there to be a next time, but a _lot_ of next times… that took the pressure off. As Combeferre relaxed, Courfeyrac smiled again. "That's the way. Now, we're going to get rid of the rest of these clothes, yeah?" When Combeferre let out a short laugh, Courfeyrac's smile widened. "And somewhere in that coat I dropped, there are probably some condoms. We'll want those, too."

While Combeferre felt more than a little ridiculous for needing those kinds of instructions, he couldn't deny that they helped. Courfeyrac even started making a game of it, eventually, trying to get him to guess what came next, letting out gasping moans and pleased sighs when Combeferre got it right, slowly learning the way of it -- how Courfeyrac liked being touched, how he liked touching in return. And by the time Courfeyrac was on his hands and knees in front of him, two of Combeferre's fingers stretching him open, Combeferre had forgotten entirely why he was worried to begin with.

Courfeyrac let out a low moan, pushed himself back onto Combeferre's fingers with a whimpered plea. Feeling comfortable enough to tease again, Combeferre withdrew his fingers, trailing them down to push lightly at the spot just beneath Courfeyrac's opening, remembering that there was a bundle of nerves right there… Hearing Courfeyrac start to whimper, Combeferre shifted his hand so he could slide his fingers back inside -- three, this time -- and yet continue rubbing that spot with his thumb. Courfeyrac let out a keening noise and gave a full-body shudder underneath him. When Combeferre paused, startled, Courfeyrac pushed back against him and choked out, "I'm… I'm good here. You can… if you're ready…" He stopped then, bowed his head and muttered, "Fuck. Instructions. I can-- what comes n-- condom! Condom, now! Please? Oh God, _please_." That last was followed by another whimper.

By now, Combeferre was deep enough in the moment that the instructions were unnecessary, but something about having Courfeyrac under him, fighting to put together intelligible words, all in the name of making this easier on _him_ , all but begging him to understand… it was a heady feeling, and it went straight to Combeferre's cock. Picking up the foil wrapper with his free hand, while he continued to work his fingers in and out of Courfeyrac's entrance with the other, Combeferre caught the corner of the packet in his teeth and tore it open. To roll it on, though, he needed both hands.

Combeferre gave one last twisting thrust of his fingers before pulling them out completely, then did his best to ignore the whimpering cry that Courfeyrac let out when he did. It wasn't until Combeferre fumbled with the condom that he realized his hands had started shaking again. Proving that he had a better sense of what Combeferre needed than Combeferre had any right to expect, Courfeyrac spoke again. "You're OK. Alan, you can do this. You're al-moth there."

Combeferre blinked for a moment, certain that he couldn't possibly have heard what he'd thought he'd heard, but Courfeyrac let out a soft snort and a stifled chuckle soon after saying it. Combeferre gaped at him for a moment and then started to laugh, too, falling over to bury that laughter in Courfeyrac's back. When they'd both calmed, Combeferre got back onto his knees and this time managed to get the condom on with no assistance. Before he could slide into place, though, Courfeyrac spoke again. "Wait. I… if it's OK, I'd like…" and then he trailed off.

Combeferre put a reassuring hand on Courfeyrac's back, stroking gently as Courfeyrac quivered beneath him. And finding himself in the role of providing reassurance instead of needing it made Combeferre somehow feel calmer. Softly, he asked, "What is it? What do you need?"

Barely a whisper, now. "See you…"

And suddenly Combeferre understood the hesitance, and his heart gave a hard lurch in his chest. How many people had Courfeyrac taken to his bed who had only wanted him because he was famous? How many people had he faced in intimacy just to see a vacant look where there should have been love? That was fear making his voice shake, now, not desire -- fear that if he turned, if he saw Combeferre's face as they made love… that it wouldn't be love he saw there, only lust, desire, greed. And that would _never_ do.

Combeferre leaned back, then gently reached out to help Courfeyrac turn over onto his back, his heart giving another hard lurch when he saw that Courfeyrac's eyes were squeezed tightly shut. Combeferre leaned over and placed soft kisses on those tightly closed eyelids, then another on Courfeyrac's lips. When Courfeyrac's eyes fluttered open, Combeferre smiled and kissed him again. He said, softly, "All you had to do was ask."

Courfeyrac's smile wobbled around the edges, but it was real. Winding his arms around Combeferre's neck and spreading his legs, he smirked. "So… are you waiting for further instructions or have you got this part?"

Grateful to let the moment of sorrow pass, Combeferre leaned over and pressed another kiss into the side of Courfeyrac's neck, nipping lightly at the skin and enjoying the shiver it produced. Unable to suppress the slight growl that crept into his voice, Combeferre said, "I think I've got this." And with no more warning than that, he pressed slowly inside. 

Courfeyrac threw his head back, arching to meet him as Combeferre began to thrust, keeping Courfeyrac pressed as closely to him as his shaking arms could manage. Meanwhile, Courfeyrac's hands were everywhere, again, as though he couldn't decide what he should be doing with them -- ghosting over Combeferre's cheeks, then running down his back, squeezing the muscles of his ass as he thrust, before trailing back up his sides to brace on his biceps. And Combeferre couldn't get enough of it, couldn't get enough of those breathy, needy moans and whimpers, couldn't get enough of the way Courfeyrac was looking at him -- like he was the answer to every question in the universe. And Combeferre just knew that the look in his own eyes as he gazed down at Courfeyrac was the same, because right then, Courfeyrac _was_ the answer to every question in the universe.

After several minutes keeping to that slow, deliberate pace as best he could, Combeferre suddenly couldn't. He needed… he needed… he was only dimly aware of Courfeyrac pulling him close and murmuring words of comfort, of reassurance, of encouragement. He moved faster, snapping his hips in time with Courfeyrac's whimpered cries, until Courfeyrac's last cry signaled him finding his release. He then clamped down on Combeferre, bringing him over the edge with him.

Then for a good long while… Combeferre's brain was blessedly silent.

* * *

Courfeyrac lay beneath Combeferre's softly snoring form, too content to be put off by being used as a living pillow. He'd managed to snag a blanket from the foot of the bed and drape it over both of them, and he would happily never move from this spot again. Neither of them had said the words, but Courfeyrac had the distinct feeling that they had both understood that they'd been meant. This hadn't been just sex. Combeferre had given him a glimpse at his soul, left himself wide open and revealed every scar and, to his utter surprise, Courfeyrac had found himself responding in kind. And it had felt good, better than he could ever have imagined, to be honest with another person like that. Then again… if anyone ever could have prompted him to such honesty, he wasn't surprised at all that it was Combeferre who'd done it. 

Courfeyrac hoped that Combeferre would want to do this again. He hoped Combeferre would want more than this. Because Courfeyrac… he did. He wanted so much more. He wanted to wake up next to Combeferre every morning. He wanted to go to sleep beside him every night. He wanted to stay up late, talking into the wee hours of the morning, like he'd dreamed of so long ago. He wanted all of that and more. And he had a feeling that Combeferre might want the same… but how to ask without coming on too strong and scaring him off? After all… they'd only met in person less than twelve hours prior, no matter how long they'd known each other, and real people just didn't move that quickly.

* * *

The next morning, Courfeyrac slid from the bed and put on nothing more adventurous than his underwear and Combeferre's tee-shirt before wandering out into the kitchen, still pondering his dilemma of the night before. And what he saw there froze him in his tracks with a fierce moment of disorientation. Mere seconds later, he started to laugh, muffling the sound in his hand as best he could. Enjolras jerked around, nearly spilling the coffee grinds he'd been about to pour into the filter in his haste to see who'd made the noise. When he saw who it was, his mouth dropped open.

Courfeyrac walked over and patted Enjolras on the back, taking the coffee away and finishing with the pot before Enjolras could have an accident with it. As Courfeyrac worked, Enjolras hissed out, "What are you doing here? I thought you were bringing him back to our place?"

Laughing softly, Courfeyrac shook his head. "And he thought you were bringing Grantaire back to our place. Good thing we were all so occupied last night that we didn't notice or things might have gotten awkward."

"What ever happened to 'just a fan I used to talk to on Twitter'?" Enjolras snorted. "You always hook up with fans you talk to on Twitter?"

Feeling his face heat, even as he cursed himself for rising to that particular bait, Courfeyrac slammed the filter into place and said, "No. He's different. He's… he's 'just a fan' the way that your thing with Grantaire is 'just casual'."

"It's not--!"

"I know that." Courfeyrac grabbed Enjolras' shoulders and gave him a quick shake to encourage him to keep his voice down. When Enjolras subsided, Courfeyrac repeated, "I know that. I know what you have with Grantaire is significantly more than casual. And Combeferre isn't just a fan. He was never just a fan. He was the best friend I had growing up, next to you. And when I lost touch with him… it hurt. It hurt more than I even wanted to think about. That was when I got wrapped up in that round robin of flavors of the month. It was like… if I couldn't have _him_ then I didn't care who I had or who had me. It didn't matter, because it wasn't him. And I don't know how to tell him that -- how to tell him how much he means to me without scaring him off." 

Courfeyrac started to shake, irrational fear flooding his body with adrenaline. "I'm terrified that I'm going to move too fast for him and lose him completely and… Enjolras, I can't lose him. Not again. I can't. And I don't know what to _do_."

Enjolras pulled Courfeyrac into a tight hug, running his hands through Courfeyrac's hair. "Easy. We'll figure it out, OK? But… maybe you should start by telling him what you just told me?"

A harsh whisper. "I _can't_. I'll scare him off."

"No, you won't."

Both Enjolras and Courfeyrac whipped around to stare at the people who'd just walked in -- Grantaire… and Combeferre. It was Combeferre who'd spoken -- only he was a Combeferre who seemed subtly different, more confident. And when he smiled, it left Courfeyrac dazzled. He said, "You're not scaring me off. When I woke up and you were gone… I thought for sure I'd dreamed the whole thing. Then I saw your clothes and realized that I hadn't… that you were still here. And I realized… I want that. I want to trip over your shoes when I go to the bathroom in the middle of the night. I want to wake up next to you every morning. I want to go to sleep next to you every night. I want to have pun wars with you and have dinner waiting for you when you come home from the theatre. I'm sorry I ever walked out on you. And I want… I want my friend back."

Courfeyrac let go of Enjolras and took a step closer to Combeferre. Heart in his throat, he said, "And… if I want to be more than friends?"

"Then I want that, too," was the firm reply. Combeferre opened his arms and Courfeyrac all but flew into them. "I want whatever piece of you you're willing to give and I want to give you every piece of me that you're willing to take. If you'll have me."

Courfeyrac beamed a smile up at Combeferre as Combeferre leaned in to press a soft kiss to his lips. Feeling a level of happiness bubbling in his stomach that normally could only be expressed in song, Courfeyrac threw his arms around Combeferre's neck and nodded vigorously before leaning in and whispering into Combeferre's ear…

"Please sir… can I have some more?"

Combeferre's laugh and the enthusiastic kiss that followed were all Courfeyrac could ever have dreamed he'd want. _Combeferre_ was all he could ever have dreamed he'd want. Pressing his face into Combeferre's chest, Courfeyrac simply said, meaning it in every way he possibly could…

"It's good to be home."

**Author's Note:**

> You can find me over at [eirenical](http://eirenical.tumblr.com) on tumblr if you'd like to say Hello. I promise I don't bite! ...much. ^_~


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